Something Blue
by fngrdust
Summary: They were something old, but they were also something borrowed, until the day she asked if they could be something new. AH/AU. *Incomplete and dead in the water - sorry!*
1. Man of Honor

**Disclaimer:** These characters aren't ours, but we did ask Santa if we could have an Emmett for Christmas. We haven't been good, but we're hopeful anyway.

**oOo**

I am lucky.

I am a lucky sonofabitch.

I've got this perfect life - a great family, a sweet condo in Back Bay, a business that has thrived since Jasper and I started it five years earlier, and the best friend a guy could ask for.

Yes sir, I am lucky indeed. Not to mention the fact I'm about to get even luckier, with the sinful blonde giving me the _fuck me now_ eyes.

If I can get the fucking door open, that is.

_"Hurry."_

Her voice alone is enough to make me contemplate breaking the damn thing down.

I work even quicker to get the key in the damn lock so we can get into my apartment and out of the hallway. The lock is giving me grief, like it has some moral opposition about what's going to happen.

I've got her back against the door and she's purring in my ear, taking the lobe between her teeth and bearing down. She's already working my zipper while simultaneously stroking me through my pants, making it even more difficult to perform the simple action of putting a key into a keyhole.

I'm beginning to think it's a lost cause and I'm seriously weighing the possibilities of running to the store for WD-40 versus just fucking her in the hallway. Just when I'm pretty sure the the key is going to wave the white flag, I feel the lock start to give. I flick my wrist and I'm in, sliding the key in with ease, like it's right where it belongs. _Dear God, let this be an omen. _

Before I have time to ask if I can take her coat or offer her a drink, she's got my pants undone and her hand under my boxers and wrapped around my dick. As good as it feels, and _damn_ does it feel good, she's definitely taking the lead and I want it back. I walk her backward through the doorway, kicking it shut behind me, and press her against the wall. This is where I rule. I'm good in the living room. Fuck, half the time I never make it to the bedroom.

I can feel her mouth open against my ear, and she's mumbling something about how hard I am. I quiet her with a _shhhh_ because this is not the time for talking, it's not the time for thinking, it's just the time for fucking. My hands wrap around her hair, the color of sunshine but stiff from hairspray, and I pull back, tipping her head so that I have access to her neck.

"Fuck Emmett, I need you inside of me."

I have every intention of making that happen and I'm vacillating between just taking her on the couch or placing my hands on her ass cheeks and carrying her into the bedroom. Of course, this is the point when my phone decides to conspire with the door on the cockblocking and starts buzzing. Her slim fingers find the offensive distraction in my pocket and pull it out, quickly sending it flying across the room so it lands on the couch with a thump.

I should answer, it could be a client. It's probably not, but it _could_ be. I forget about the phone when her hands attack my already open fly. In a move that seems effortless, and I don't know or care why, she's got my pants and boxer briefs down in one fell swoop. She slides down my body and her knees hit the plush carpet with a soft thud. _So this is what she meant when she said she needs me inside of her? Well shit, works for me._

The phone's buzzing again and while it's faint from across the room, I can still hear it. As much as I'm enjoying what she's doing with her lips and her tongue and her _teeth, _I know I've got to at least check and make sure it's not a client calling. Neither of us have a 9-5 job, so she knows what it's like.

I take advantage of the fact that she's come up for air, stepping back and motioning for her to stand up. She pouts a little, but she still rises to her feet, leaning back against the wall like she's all of a sudden in no rush at all. Her shirt is unbuttoned and her skirt is hiked halfway up her thighs, even though I can't remember any activity that involved her clothes. She's like a fucking ninja. A ridiculously hot, half-naked, sex ninja.

Momentarily forgetting my phone, I push my body flush against hers, grinding myself against her, waiting for her to do that little gasp-moan that she was doing in the hallway. I don't have to wait long. Fuck, I don't have to wait at all, because every time I thrust against her she meets me, giving it right back. I lift her up and she works with me, placing her hands on my chest and pushing back against the wall for support while she wraps her legs around my waist.

She starts talking again, about how bad she wants me and every word goes straight to the spot she's rubbing against. I grab her chin and kiss her hard, not caring at all that she had my dick in her mouth a minute ago, just trying to make this last long enough to make sure everyone gets what they came for. She's gripping the front of my shirt and twisting it in her first and I'll be damned if I'm going to have to get the buttons replaced again. Why do they always go for the buttons?

I pin her hips with mine, trapping her between me and the wall, while I take her wrists and ease them up over her head. They both fit easily in one hand, which leaves the other one free to maneuver between us. I let go of her face and slide my fingers down over her collarbone and between her breasts. They're fake, but I knew that just from looking at them. It's not my preference, but she's fucking sexy as hell, regardless of whether her assets are store bought. Still, I miss tits; real, soft, perfectly imperfect tits.

I don't bother staying in the silicone valley long, because we're far beyond breast fondling at this point. There's only one thing she wants touched and it's currently grinding against my increasingly painful erection. I slip my hand between us, finding nothing but slick skin. She apparently got her panties off at some point. Fuck, maybe she never had any on. I groan at the thought and she pulls her mouth away from mine, scraping my jaw with her teeth as she moves her lips to my ear once again.

"Emmett, I really appreciate this whole seduction thing, but do you think you could fuck me now?"

Even when you are as lucky as I am, it's not every day that you have a gorgeous girl, naked and begging you to fuck her. I let go of her wrists, grazing my fingertips over the skin of her forearms, loving the way she shivers a little.

She lowers her arms slowly, pressing her hands flat against my chest, before running them up into my hair. She's pulling a little and looking me in the eyes and she smiles that little smile that says 'it's time.' I start to extricate my hand from between us, but she whimpers and pouts.

"Hey now, I seem to remember a 'fuck me' request. Yes?" My free hand traces the soft curve of her ass. "We can continue here if you'd rather... I've got all night."

She shakes her head no and wraps herself around me, her hands gripping my shoulders. I don't need to hold her up or use the wall for leverage anymore, because she's practically attached to me. Her boots heels are digging into my ass but hell if I care. She's voiced her needs and I was raised to honor a woman's request.

I step backwards, careful not to trip as I make my way to the couch. She feels like she doesn't weigh a thing, and I'm plenty strong enough to lift her, but I've still got three fingers inside her and I can't see shit because her hair is everywhere. Plus, she's distracting me with her mouth on my neck, biting and sucking and probably leaving one hell of a bruise.

We've been leading up to this point for weeks; interested glances across a conference room, a business card with her home number written on the back pressed into my hand at the end of a meeting, calls at the office to talk details that we both knew didn't need going over. We'd been dancing around this, but from the moment she opened the door to her apartment a couple hours ago, I knew exactly where we were headed.

And here we are.

And there she is. Splayed on the couch and panting, looking up at me like I am some sort of a god. And damn it, I feel like one. Grasping the back of the couch so I don't put my entire body weight on her, my knee finds its place on the leather, next to where her leg is twitching restlessly. Her hands are doing all sorts of wicked things, scraping over my chest before grasping my shoulders and then digging into my back.

The goddamn phone lights up _again _and the damn thing is like the Boston Lighthouse, it's _that _bright.

She pulls back, annoyed, and I don't blame her because I'm pretty damn annoyed myself. Reaching over, she grabs the phone off the couch and looks at the screen.

"Oh, this is rich." She reads the text that just came through. "_Whatever her name is, she can wait five minutes. xo, Rose._"

Kate's actually met Rosalie before but now is not the time for conversation about my knock-out (albeit pain in the ass, at this particular moment) best friend. "Not important, Kate. Honest to God, ignore it." I press the power button for a few seconds, shutting off the phone and throw it onto the coffee table. Rose is _not _going to mess this up for me this time.

Kate's expression is still one of annoyance until I press my lips against her tits (because while they are fake, they are still tits) and my fingers revisit where they'd been moments before and the haze glosses over her eyes. I try not to think about the damn text message from Rosalie, try to focus all of my energy and attention on Kate. And I have to say, I'm doing a bang up job of it... until the house phone rings.

"Are you shitting me?" Kate groans and throws her arm over forehead. I try to ignore the sound, try to just continue about my business with this gorgeous woman who is practically naked on my couch. Who is sexy and smart and funny and (most importantly) _available. _

The machine beeps and her rich, husky voice fills the room. It's the voice I'd heard daily for nearly ten years, the only voice that really mattered. _Emmett, you need to pick up the phone. We have important business to discuss._

And just like that, Kate's off the couch and collecting her personal belongings like she's exiting a flight. "Kate, wait a..."

The skirt's already being hitched over those hot as fuck boots, which were apparently made for walking and not fucking this evening. Standing behind her, stark naked, I try to lure her back, running my nose along her neck as she buttons her shirt. My hands are over hers, trying to undo the buttons again and for a moment, I think it might work.

Until the house phone starts ringing again.

"Oh Emmett, we could have been so beautiful. But no." She runs her hand over her hair and picks up her purse from where she must have dropped it by the door. "It looks like you have important matters to deal with." At this point is when Rosalie's voice comes back over the speaker of the machine. "Fuck this, my vibrator may not feel as good as you, but at least it doesn't get calls from another woman."

Rosalie is still chatting away as the door unceremoniously slams I pick up the extension, while pressing the button on the machine.

"What?"

"You should really answer your calls, Emmett. What if I were someone from work?"

I lean down and pick up my scattered clothes, tossing them in the hamper in the hall closet as I walk past. "Ah, but you're not."

"Well, I sort of am... technically. I'm your caffeine supplier. Without me, you wouldn't get anything done. And then where would you be?" I open my mouth to tell her where I'd be right now, if she hadn't interrupted, but she cuts me off. "So, what'll it be?"

"You're asking me what I want from Starbucks in the morning?" I make my way to my bedroom, still pissed that I'd been interrupted mid pre-coital bliss. Pretty sure my voice isn't hiding the fact.

"That's right." At her answer, I sit on the end of the bed and flop back, exhaling nosily. My order never deviates, it's steadfast - black coffee, scone. And she knows it. Once in a while, if we're being "bad" we take a trip out to Flour Bakery so I can get a sticky bun and she can get the apple spice cake. But it's rare that we treat ourselves on weekdays since it's completely out of the way. Our waistlines probably thank us for the fact, even if our taste buds protest.

I don't answer her question because we both know that's not really why she's calling. "How'd you find out? That fucker Jasper told you that I was taking Kate out tonight, didn't he?"

Her reply is quick; I expect nothing less. "'That fucker Jasper' is my dear darling brother. Only _I'm _allowed to call him 'that fucker.' And it sounds more like you were taking her _in_. Really Em, why am I hearing about this from 'that fucker?' I should have heard about it from _you_, fucker." For a moment, I think I catch a hint of sadness in her voice and I'm about to apologize when I hear her blowing kisses into her phone, her signature goodbye. "I guess I'll let you return to that. Give Kate my regards." _No no, that wasn't at all sarcastic._

"She left since you kept calling like my jealous wife."

"Oh, that's a shame." _Yeah, she sounds really tore up over it. _ "You're too good for her and her fake boobs anyway, Emmett. I really did you a favor. Speaking of favors, I left a _Penthouse_ in the bottom drawer of your nightstand when I was there Monday for dinner. Don't say I never did anything for you."

Rosalie Hale, ladies and gentlemen, supplier of both caffeine and porn.

"You're a sweetheart, Rosalie."

"You know it. Love you."

She waits silently.

I sit up and lean toward my nightstand, intent on getting the latest and greatest of tits and ass, not saying a word.

"LOVE you, Em." She says it again, reiterating the point and waiting for my answer. "Come on, say it. You know you do."

"Yeah, I love you too."

One more kiss in the phone and she's gone.

And I'm alone.

**oOo**

No-hot-sex-with-a-gorgeous-blonde makes Emmett a grumpy motherfucker, and I'm still not thrilled with Rosalie when I wake up in the morning. I figure walking to the office will help blow off some steam before she shows up with coffee and pretends like nothing happened the night before.

When in fact, nothing did, except for me jerking off like I was in high school and Kate getting cozy with her Hitachi magic wand. Thank you, once again, Rosalie Hale. She's lucky I love her the way that I do.

And I do love her.

She may have royally cockblocked me, but Rose is still my best friend. She has been since sophomore year of college and she always will be. Since the day we met on the college green, I knew she was someone special. A wayward football went flying in her direction while I was playing with the guys from my floor. Most girls would have picked up the ball and walked it over. She threw it neatly, spiraling toward me and told me she was joining the game. Then she proceeded to kick my ass and made me buy her a burger afterward.

I'd never been so blown away by a girl before. She'd shown up at my dorm the next day and informed me I was her date for the night. She'd picked out my clothes and told me to meet her downstairs in ten minutes. I made it in nine and she showed up half an hour later. It was the first of many times I wound up waiting for her, but the sight of her when she did show up made it worth it. Every time.

Rose is nothing I ever thought I wanted in a best friend. She's demanding and headstrong and a royal pain in the ass sometimes. I can't imagine not having her around.

She's more than just a best friend. She's my person.

And through her, I met Jasper. Which lead to finding a business partner, figuring out my lot in life, and landing where I am today. Pretty sweet deal, if you ask me. I've got it all.

Okay, not _all._ I know there's more to life than a nice house, a fast car and two weeks in wherever we (yeah, I vacation with Rose) happen to land every year. And it's not like I don't want someone to share it with. I just want to make sure that when I do settle down, it's for good.

I want what my parents have. I see the way my father still checks out my mom. I caught them making out in the pantry the last time I was over for dinner. It was pretty weird, but I hope that's me someday. To be still so in love after 35 years that you just have to be touching whenever you're together. And you just don't get that with anyone. You have to find _the one_.

Kate probably isn't the one, anyway, but I'd bet even money she's a great lay and I'd like to know that from firsthand experience. Kate is smart and sexy, with a body that could, and probably does, stop traffic. She's also a business contact and I'm going to have a hell of a time ironing out that end of things.

But she isn't the first 'not the one' in the parade of women to get naked in my apartment. Okay, maybe not a parade, but still, she's not the first blonde that I've brought home. She's also not the first one to never make it off the couch.

More often than not, they think it's something, and I don't. With Kate, I thought maybe... but it doesn't matter what I thought now, because any _maybe_ is now a firm _NO._ I tried calling her after I got off the phone with Rose, just to say _sorry_ or _it's not what you think _or _I could come to your place_, but she didn't pick up.

Thank God for _Penthouse_, which by the way, people do not buy for the articles. _Playboy_? Maybe. But _Penthouse_ is for one thing and one thing only.

I make it to the office in record time, my strides brisk and quick, probably working out some of the pent up anger from the previous night. I'll be doing more of that later when I beat the shit out of the heavy bag at lunch. I'd started boxing in college and even though I don't have much time for it these days, it's a great stress reliever. Plus, it's good for business.

I round the corner to the converted brownstone that has been my home away from home for the past five years, the offices of MHC, Inc. Jasper and I started the agency right out of college, with nothing more than a dream, an up-and-coming local fighter and a loan from my parents. We don't try and compete with the big dogs, instead focusing on hometown athletes that are interested in a smaller firm that can give them more personal attention. Very Jerry McGuire.

Getting to the office early affords me the opportunity to be there before everyone else rolls in. It's quiet, cathartic; it clears my head and helps me refocus on what I'm there for, my job and our clients. Jasper and I were lucky to find this building on the cheap, a HUD home that was also zoned commercial. Place had squatters when we found it and it was mostly gutted but after a lot of elbow grease, and a little help from our friends, we got things up and running.

Soon after we started, Rosalie rented out the lower floor of the building when she started her event planning business. It was a blessing and a curse to have her so close. At the moment, I'm leaning toward curse, knowing that she could be lurking around any corner and fairly positive I'm not ready to see her.

As my computer powers up, I make my way down the back steps to grab the papers, immediately removing the sports sections. When I re-enter my office, I'm greeted with the smell of coffee... and the sweet scent of a caramel sticky bun that can only be from Flour Bakery.

Cautiously, I look around for Rosalie, knowing that she was the bearer of not only the coffee but the treat from our favorite bakery, miles out of the way from her route to work. I find a cup with the lid removed and the pastry, resting on a paper plate on my desk blotter. Picking up the coffee, I see her handwriting on the calendar for the night before.

_Sorry._

She's the only one who actually writes on my desk calendar. Notes littered throughout the days, things she's thinking or needs to tell me. Sometimes she'll write them while I'm in the office but, most of the time, I find them when she's nowhere in sight.

I fucking house that sticky bun, moaning the entire time about how damn good it tastes and I almost call her. Almost forgive her right then and there and offer her whatever she wants because the bun is _that_ good. Almost. The morning flies and, after a quick meeting with Jasper and a new client, I find myself sitting back in my office. Lauren left contracts on my desk while I was in the conference room, so I'm busy signing my name at the arrowed post-its when I hear the door open.

You know how your body can recognize certain people? Now, granted, there aren't too many people who have access to my office but I don't even have to look up to know it's Rose hovering in the doorway. It's a combination of her scent, her heels, and just... _her. _It's always been this way with her, though. She could walk in to a crowded fraternity basement in college and I'd immediately know she was there. Granted, she's the type to cause a scene whenever she enters a room. Or exits, for that matter.

What she's _not _is the hovering type, so I glance up and find her leaning her shoulder against the frame.

"Did she really leave?"

Pushing back from my desk, I weave my fingers together against the back of my head and recline in the chair. "She really left."

"Think she'll be back?"

"Hell if I know." Rose looks like she's sorry and, while she has given me the necessary space, she can tell that I'm still a bit irked. Her finger is running up and down the wooden frame of the door and she's not making eye contact.

She looks up and her eyes meet mine. "I was jealous."

"I know..." And I do know just how jealous she can be. Rose has always been very territorial when it comes to certain people. She guards me like a pitbull. Still, I have to remind her that it wasn't her place to do so. "But we're not together."

"I know. But you're still... mine." _Yeah, and you're someone else's. _"And I _did_ have something to talk to you about. Something important. I needed you."

Now she's got me worried. "If everything okay? You? Peter?"

"Oh yes, everything is fine. Great actually. I just really need to talk to you about things."

I nod once, accepting her words. "Get your ass in here, Hale."

And just like that, the apologetic expression is gone and replaced with an angelic one; only I know better. Rose saunters into my office, sliding my Zen rock garden across my desk so she could hop up on the black lacquer top. In a skirt. Of course.

"What the hell is that on your neck?" Apparently, we've moved past the part of the conversation where she is contrite.

"I bit myself shaving."

She snorts, but it's a delicate sort of snort. Classic Rose. "Isn't that why God invented turtlenecks, Em?"

"No, that's why God invented Kate." She rolls her eyes, but not before I see a flash of jealously in them. "Whatever, you're taking me to lunch." She says it like it's a done deal, like I don't have the option of turning her down.

"Rose, in case the desk and suit didn't give me away, I'm actually working here."

"Call it a business lunch. I have a proposition for you." She crosses her legs and I try valiantly not to notice them, the shape of her calves or how good they look from her morning runs. My fingers itch a bit because they want to touch. And hell, I've touched her legs plenty of times when they've been draped across my lap when we watch movies. But this type of touching would be different than that, so I keep them tucked behind my head.

I raise my eyebrows suggestively at her word choice. "Are you really in the position to be propositioning me?"

"You wish. I'm serious, it's work related. I'm here in a professional capacity. Besides, you know you were just going to sit here until your secretary ordered you a sandwich. What's this one's name, anyway?"

"Lauren. She started yesterday. She came highly recommended."

"I give her a week. I have pantyhose that last longer than your secretaries."

It isn't really that bad, but I had lost several assistants over the last year. Also, Rose doesn't wear pantyhose, she wears silk stockings which are currently making a distracting swishing noise every time she crosses her legs.

"It's not my fault they all leave when they find out I frown on mixing business and... other things." Okay, usually they leave once I have mixed business with pleasure, a fact Rose is all too aware of.

"Jesus, full of yourself much? Besides, you do business with Kate and you didn't seem to mind mixing other things with her... unless it was business." Rose raises her eyebrows at me, and I get what she's trying to imply.

"Rose, don't go there."

"What?" She tries to pull of the wide eyed innocent face but fails horribly. "I'm just saying. I mean, I know Kate. She's not exactly the _settling down_ type."

I raise my brow yet say nothing. Rosalie tends to think that none of the women I date are the _settling down _type. I just think that she's not a fan of the women I choose to date. Personally, I think that I have pretty high standards and I don't just jump into bed with anyone woman I come across.

Rose slides off the desktop and starts for the door. I keep quiet, knowing that it isn't worth getting into, especially since Kate isn't likely to be gracing my couch ever again. "Alright, Lance Romance. You, me, lunch, half an hour. I'll try to keep from jumping you, since it's business and all."

"No dice. I'm hitting the gym." I need to vent my frustrations on the heavy bag for a bit. "Someone brought me a delicious, but very fattening sticky bun this morning."

"And? I could wash my delicates on your stomach. You don't need to go the gym."

She can't get her way all the time, and I'm not giving in... all the way. "Checking out my abs again, Rose?"

Any sign of her being sorry was gone now. "Oh yes, Emmett. I do nothing but stare at your magnificent body. You are the sole reason I take twenty-five minute showers. I may not even make it through the day without locking myself in my office and..."

I cut her off, because after having her ass on my desk and her legs in my face for the last fifteen, I don't need that visual right now. "Well then, you don't really have time for lunch either, do you? Can it wait until dinner or do you really need to talk right now?"

"Fine. Dinner. But only because this one actually up and left your apartment. I'll call Peter and let him know he's on his own. He probably has some work he can finish up at the office anyway. I suppose you can entertain me." She walks toward the door slowly and with more hip action than usual.

"Rosie, I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave." It's always a battle for the last word. Always.

"Yeah, well if memory serves, you liked to watch me come too, but this _is _a place of business."

Game. Set. Match.

**oOo**

Six-thirty rolls around and I find Rosalie sitting in the reception area, flipping through a magazine.

"Ready to motor, Hale? Where are you taking me?" We've already done our weekly dinner at my place. She had requested an old favorite, Roasted Butternut Squash Ravioli in a sage butter sauce. I'd made it for her when we had just graduated college and whenever October rolls around, I inevitably knew the dish would be requested. That's my girl; always consistent. She gets her favorite meals and I apparently get _Penthouse_.

And just as consistently, she would order pizza next week for dinner at her place. Rose can't cook to save her life. Not even Kraft Mac n Cheese. I still remember her burning Top Ramen back in the broke post-grad years before she got her business off the ground. We have dinner once a week, Monday nights. We take turns on whose place we eat at, but Monday nights are a given. No dates, no business, no excuses. We've missed two nights in five years, once for a wake I'd had to attend and once because Jasper had to have an emergency appendectomy. And even then, we'd sat together in the hospital cafeteria together.

"Thai? Chinese? Sushi? You pick and I'll buy." Like she needs to say it. She requested this 'business dinner.'

"How very giving of you. Let's do sushi." I lock the front door and throw my arm around her shoulder. "Should I stop at the convenience store and pick up a _Playgirl_ for you? You know, payback?" I steer us through the streets toward our favorite Japanese restaurant and she leans into me, her hair blowing against my face and lips. If it were anyone else, it might be annoying but it's her, so it's not.

"Nah, I've got the Internet for that, buddy." The wicked smile and gleam in her eyes are back where they belong.

She talks about her day and the event that she has planned for Sunday when I catch a glimpse of our reflection in a store window. Have to admit I'm a bit startled by what I see. We look like the picture perfect happy couple. Rosalie fits perfectly under my arm, looking like she belongs here; our heads bow together and her hand rests on mine, at her shoulder.

I don't know, maybe she does belong there. I mean, really belong, not just in the best friend capacity but as something more. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't entertained the thought a few times but time never seemed to be on our side so I just let the idea slip by the wayside. And she has Peter now.

The Friday night dinner crowd isn't too bad. After giving our name to the hostess, we turn and I place my hand on her back, guiding her to an open spot. We stand next to the seats, leaving them for people with children or for others who need them.

"Hey, so what did you want to talk about?"

"Not now. Let's wait until we sit down." She looks a bit nervous and but gives me a brilliant smile that outshines it. "It's... big."

"Heh. Yeah, it is." I grunt out under my breath and she doesn't come back with the normally snappy remark that I've come to expect. Instead, she looks like she's have a mini seizure, jerking herself back and forth from left to right and making surprised faces. "Uh, Rosalie? What are you doing?"

"Playing peek-a-boo. Stop moving your shoulder, it's what I'm hiding behind." I turn my head slightly (and keep my shoulder stationary, because far be it for me not to listen to Miss Bossypants) to see the little girl sitting on her mom's lap, giggling at Rosalie's antics. She might be brash as the guys in a fraternity house but she's always had a soft spot for kids.

The little girl catches my eye and she does the ol' hide and peek with her hands. I smile back and mimic her actions while Rosalie pokes my cheek. "Stop flirting with my little friend! Bring out the dimples and she's as good as gone."

I turn my attention to her and really turn on the cheesy grin. "It's never worked on you."

She rolls her eyes and I _think _I hear her say "Don't be so sure." Even though I shouldn't, I want to ask her what exactly she means by that, or if she meant anything at all. But at that moment, the hostess calls our name and the chance has come and gone. If I brought it up at the table, it would just be a little bit too late and a lot awkward.

Soon we found ourselves at our table and she launches into her spiel.

"Em, I want Mike Newton. Actually, I need Mike Newton."

Mike Newton is a client. Hell, at one point, he was _the _client. Mike was a light-heavyweight boxer that grew up kicking ass and taking names on the streets of Southie, and we'd been friends since he broke my nose when we were fourteen. In fairness, I had been checking out his sister.

Without him, there might be no MHC, Inc. He'd taken a chance signing with our bare bones start-up because he was loyal to his friends, but we'd made sure that everyone got what they wanted out of the partnership. Question was, what the hell did Rose want with him?

"I'm an agent, not a pimp, Rose. So if you are asking me to set him up with one of your girlfriends, the answer is no." Mike had been named one of Boston Magazine's most eligible bachelors, and ever since, I felt like I was running a dating service.

"Funny, but no. I need him for a charity function I'm organizing. There is a 'date for the night auction' and Mike will bring in serious bank. It's for inner city kids and he grew up in the projects and I just thought..." I put my hand up to stop her from rambling on.

"I get it. I'll see what I can do." Mike will totally agree; giving back to the community is a big thing with him, but I want to let Rose sweat it a little. The waitress comes by to take our drink orders and give us menus that we don't need, because it's always the same thing.

Rose is talking about the event and making her points very emphatically, her hands waving around the way they do when she gets really excited about an idea. I'm listening and responding but really, I'm watching her. Taking her and her enthusiasm in 'cause it's contagious. Being near her is easy, always has been.

"So listen, there's a reason I wanted to have dinner, other than the Mike Newton thing. You know how much I love you. You're my best friend. You're my person. And I know you don't get this, because we're in such different places, but you know how ready I am to move on with my life. I want it all, marriage, babies, white picket fence. I wanted to tell you last night, the second I made up my mind, but then, you know... I royally screwed that up. I need to ask you something, Em."

My mind automatically starts racing at the words _marriage_ and _babies. _ _What the hell is going on here? Is she... is she going to ask me to marry her? Come up with one of those crazy ideas about marrying each other if neither one of us finds someone by the time they are thirty? That shit only happens in movies and we are still a year out from thirty anyway. _

It's not like I've never considered the idea. There is no one in this world that means more to me than Rose, no one. We're already _everything but_, and there are moments, late at night, when I wonder if I'm ignoring what is right in front of my face because I'm afraid, because I'm not ready. But we tried that once, one time, and she shut it down and said that what we had was better than that.

_And she _has _someone. She has..._

"Peter asked me to marry him... and I said yes. You're my best friend in the entire world. Em, will you be my man of honor?"

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to **Hmonster4, TheHeartofLife and Miztrezboo** for the hand-holding, picspam and quiet gentle (*snort*) encouragement. Yay 30 Days of Emmett - many thanks to the hosts!

I don't know how long we contemplated this story as a one-shot, but it was less than five minutes. We love writing together, and we've been having a blast with Unfmett (credits to TheHeartofLife) and Rose. So if you enjoyed, please feel free to put this on alert.

We are taking on the romcom movies here. Think of all those cliches and imagine them happening to our Emmett. No promises what we will or won't include but we aren't opposed to public singing.

Hearts, fngrdust


	2. For Better or Worse

**Disclaimer:** These characters aren't ours and sadly, they aren't real either. If they were, we'd be having sex with them.

_"Peter asked me to marry him... and I said yes. You're my best friend in the entire world. Em, will you be my man of honor?" _

You know the teacher in _The_ _Peanuts_ cartoons? Fuck yeah, I watched _Peanuts_ cartoons. Still do. In fact, the Halloween one should be coming up any day now, and Rosalie knows her presence is required on my couch. Anyway, you know the teacher that talks and all the kids hear are "wah wah wahh wahhh wahhh?"

Yeah. That's what the rest of the conversation is like with Rosalie. I'm able to choke out a word that I think is _congratulations_ and I guess that in her mind, I'm saying _yes. _She's out of her chair, hugging the shit out of my neck and it feels like she's choking me.

Because I sure can't breathe.

The rest of the night is pretty much a blur. I know she's saying other stuff, details I should probably be paying attention to, but I'm not. It doesn't matter, she'll remind me again anyway, and I'll probably have minutes from this 'meeting' on my desk come Monday morning.

I smile and nod when it feels appropriate, or when Rosalie looks at me expectantly. She talks about her mother. I know it's always been important for her to try and take care of her mom, make her life easier since it hasn't always been.

_Peter asked me to marry him._

She starts in on the details, whipping a planner the size of a phonebook out of her bag and opening it. She's pointing at things and talking about cancellations and everything being rushed.

_...and I said yes._

She makes notes and there's a highlighter. No, make that _multiple _highlighters and she says that she's going to call Bella and Alice tonight. I mumble something stupid about telling them I said hi. She puts her hand on top of mine and says she wanted to tell me first.

_You're my best friend in the entire world._

She pays the check and stands, waiting for me to stand with her, but I'm stuck. Normally we would banter back and forth about the bill or something, but now, I just sit here. She's ready to go, ready to leave, and I'm frozen, wondering how the fuck the time got away from me.

_Em, will you be my man of honor?_

How can I be when I'm not an honorable man? Dude, have I even been a good friend to her? How did I not see that coming? I know she and Peter have been getting closer, but for fuck's sake, it's only been six months. And Peter travels for business a lot, so really, it's less. And she's been busy with work lately, so less still. Shit, they've been on like three dates and they are engaged?

"Emmett? Are you ready to go? I've got a bunch of calls to make tonight."

I look up at her, and she's got that impatient look on her face, but then it softens and I can't help but wonder if I've got some sort of lost puppy dog look on my face. _God, I hope not._ "Em, are you okay? I know this seems sudden."

I stand up and grab my coat because while my feelings are warring with each other, I've got to keep it together. Shrugging into my coat, I don't answer her question, but instead muster up a curt "I'm ready."

Putting my hand on her elbow, I steer her toward the exit. It's a habit, but it's also a possessive thing. I wonder if Peter does it. We both nod at the hostesses as we walk past, the movement robotic. The waiting area has emptied of the dinner rush since we first arrived. Reaching the curb, I see a cab coming toward us up the block, so I raise my fingers to my mouth and give a loud whistle.

Rosalie glares at me and holds her ear while adjusting the strap of her bag. It keeps hitting my leg, like that book is getting ready to fucking punch me in the junk. "Jeez Em, how many times do I have to ask you for a little warning?"

"We're out getting a cab, Rose. I do this every time. Take a tip from the Boy Scouts - always be prepared." I'm a little pissy back, and man, I guess it shows.

"Right. Except you were never a Boy Scout, so you don't get to go dispersing their wisdom."

On any other night, our banter would be construed as jokes. Tonight, the tone of this exchange is anything but joking, and the tension between us is foreign. In fact, in all the years I've known Rose, there was only one other time I felt this way. I know that I shouldn't be acting like this... but, fuck it, I am.

Opening the door of the cab that is now waiting at the curb, I motion for her to get in, but she just stands there. _Well, shit. _So, I extend the olive branch. "Share?" We usually do; my house is on the way to hers from here.

"I... I'm going to Peter's."

_Peter asked me to marry him._

"Oh. Right. Okay." I have rarely been at a loss for words with Rose, but I don't know what to say.

"Emmett, what? What the hell? Your best friend in the world is getting married, and you're acting like a complete assclown." Her eyes are flashing now. She's pissed and while she was holding back before, she's not anymore. That's my Rosalie.

_...and I said yes._

Not my Rosalie anymore.

"You're right, and I'm sorry. I just... I didn't know it was that serious. I... I'll think about the man of honor thing, okay?" It's the wrong thing to say, and I watch something rush across her face, but I don't know what it is and then it's gone before I can name it. She steps toward the cab, but then turns back to me, her face calm and decided.

"Okay." She sinks into the car seat and reaches to close the door behind her, but I hold it open.

"Do you love him, Rose?" The question is low and sounds raspy to my own ears but damn it, I need to know. I don't think she'd have said yes if she didn't, but I need to hear her say it.

"I do, Em. I love him." I nod at her declaration and listen to her give the cabbie Peter's address before I shut the door. Bringing my hand down, I rap on the top of the frame of the car twice. The cab starts to pull away and I raise my hand as Rosalie presses her fingers to her lips and touches the window.

She loves him. She's getting married.

I'm losing her.

**oOo**

"What the fuck is a 'date for the night' auction?"

Mike has his weight solidly behind the heavy bag I'm currently whaling on. It's like slamming my fists into a brick wall; he doesn't move an inch.

"It's a charity thing, man. You wear a tux and a bunch of rich society women bid to have you as their date for the night. A little dinner, a little dancing, a little slap and tickle." I keep swinging, enjoying the burn in my muscles.

"I don't know, Emmett. I don't really do the whole 'monkey suit thing,' you know that."

"I know, I know. But it's for inner city kids. And it helps with that 'hoodlum with a heart of gold' image Kate is trying to cultivate for you."

Honestly, Kate doesn't have to work too hard on the hoodlum or the heart of gold. Mike is both. We got into more than our fair share of scrapes growing up. Nothing too serious, but the local cops knew who we were.

Of course, once my dad figured out what I was doing in my after school hours, he put a swift end to it. He sat me down, along with Mike, and gave us the business, but good. Mike had even stayed with us for a bit when his mom went away to clean up her act. He was a good kid, he just needed someone who wouldn't put up with his shit, and that was my Pop. And my mom.

"Just do it, Mike. Don't make me have to tell Ma on you."

Mike Newton isn't afraid of much, but he hates it when he thinks he might disappoint my mother. It's sort of a cheap shot, and I know it, but it's better than having to tell Rose it's a no go.

"Speaking of Ma, how is my hot piece of ass doing?"

"Fuck you, Newton. You talking about my mother's ass got old about fifteen years ago." I lay into the bag even more than before. He always does this; he talks about my mom and what a hottie she is, just because he knows it drives me nuts. After all these years, he knows all the right buttons to push. Back in the day, Mike was the king of 'yo mama' jokes, but now it's just the occasional jab about how he'd tap that.

Which is gross.

"Fine, fine. Quit your bitching and focus. You're acting like you're on the rag. What's up?"

"Shitty night's sleep last night. After Rose asked about the date auction, she kind of dropped a bomb." I pause, having to concentrate to land the punches squarely on the bag.

I'm off today, edgy and wound up. Stepping back and motioning to Mike that I'm done, I sink down onto a nearby bench and work my hands out of the gloves. Grabbing my water bottle, I swallow half of it in one gulp before dumping the rest over my head to cool off.

Doesn't work.

"Shit Emmett, did she tell you she's becoming a man or something? She's certainly got the balls for it, that one." Mike and Rose have met a few times over the years, and he's had the honor of watching her decimate a guy that dared to touch her ass in a bar. Afterward, he gave her pointers on stance and guarding, all the while, protecting his face.

"Nah. She's... she's getting married." It sounds weird saying it out loud. I'm sure I'll get used to it in time, but it still feels strange. I say it again, trying to get used to the words. "She's getting married. And she asked me to be her Man of Honor."

This earns me a loud chuckle from Mike. "Man of Honor? What color is your dress going to be, Nancy? I think you're a winter, Em, with this hair and those eyes." He's grabbing at my hair, pulling a tuft of it and I swat his hand away, pissed off about him being in my personal space.

"Fuck off, Mikey." He hates being called Mikey. Which means I call him that any time I want to get under his skin.

"Seriously, what did you say?"

"I told her I'd think about it." Mike snorts loudly at that and I automatically throw my towel at him. "What? What the hell was I supposed to say?"

"Well, I'd have started with 'no', possibly 'fuck no', but you and that girl are... different. You know you're going to do whatever she tells you to do. I don't know why you bother fighting it." Mike leans back against the brick behind him. "You and she ever...?"

"We're friends, Mike. It's not a completely foreign concept to be friends with a woman, you know." The topic of _had she and I ever_ wasn't something I wanted to get into here. Or anywhere. It was ancient history.

"Then why not just say yes?" Mike has a way of stripping shit down to the bones. Why not just say yes? She was my best friend, right? Why did I feel like I'd swallowed a lead weight as soon as I heard the words 'Peter asked me to marry him and I said yes.'

It's not like I'm in love with Rosalie. I'm not in love with her. I just... I love her. And I think, on some level, I always assumed that what we had was more than what she was ever going to find with some guy. It was certainly more than I had ever found with other women.

"I don't know."

"For Christ's sake, Emmett. I get hit in the head for a living, but even I can figure it out. You want her." Mike is smart, but rarely serious. He always goes for a quick laugh, usually a dirty one. He's serious now, though. "You do, don't you?"

I let the words settle over me, burrowing under my skin. _You want her_. I don't know if I want her, but I know I don't want what we have to change, and if I'm honest, I don't want anyone else to have her.

Not for the first time in my life, I find myself wondering what it would be like to really be with Rose, to take things to the next level. And I try to forget the only time we went there, because we almost didn't make it.

**oOo**

Vegas, 2004

I roll over, groaning as I hit a patch of pillow that's drenched in sunlight from the floor to ceiling windows. I shrink back into the shadows, shielding my eyes with my forearm. What fucking time is it? What fucking day is it? We're in Vegas celebrating our college graduation, I know that much.

The night before comes back in snippets, little fragments of pictures slowly piecing themselves together without rhyme or reason or order.

_A late night flight and a cab to the casino. A couple hours at the craps table with Jasper. Rose kissing the dice and winking at me before she took off shopping with Bella. _

_Dinner and drinks and a tipsy Bella dancing on the table. Rose egging her on, but refusing to get up there with her. _

Apparently they went to Victoria's Secret on their shopping trip. Jesus, Bella has a nice ass. She made sure everyone in the restaurant knew it too. I remember assuring Rose that she was equally as sexy as Bella, just in a different way.

_Tequila shots and a karaoke bar. Singing 'Sunshine' with Rose while she danced around me, her hands visiting places they probably shouldn't, crooning and playing up for the crowd. _

_An impromptu game of truth or dare on the strip that had turned into a trip to The Little White Wedding Chapel. _

I sit up in bed fast, a move that I instantly regret because it slams my brain into the front of my skull. Did we really go to a wedding chapel? I look down at my hand and there's no ring. I try and remember what happened after we got there.

_Dropping down on one knee and telling Rose that I wanted her to be my lady in the streets and my freak in the sheets._

It seemed romantic at the time.

_Rose telling me that dare or no dare, she was not even marrying me because my proposal sucked. _

_Bella calling us pussies and stalking off with Jasper to hunt for 'beefcake.'_

_Rose and I walking back to the hotel, basically holding each other up and failing at that a few times when she grabbed my ass before she landed on hers. _

I don't remember a damn thing after that. I don't even remember getting back to the hotel, or dropping Rose off at her room at the other end of the suite. And I certainly don't remember getting undressed, but I don't have anything on so I must have.

I swing my legs off the side of the bed, planting both feet on the floor and then pause a minute to make sure I'm good with being upright. I need coffee. And bacon.

I make my way slowly across the room toward the sitting area that adjoins the two bedrooms. Bella's dad hooked us up with a suite, complete with amazing view of the strip. Where the hell is Bella anyway? And Jasper? The other bed in our room was conspicuously empty.

Maybe they...

No. No way. Jasper and Bella have a lot of things in common, the main one being that they both seem to have a thing for the brooding musician type.

I open the door to the main room of the suite and I spot Rose sitting on the sofa by the windows. She's got her back to me, but I can tell from her posture that she's awake. And she's wearing my shirt.

My shirt from last night. The one I don't remember taking off. How the hell did she get my shirt?

I squeeze my eyes shut and the remainder of the prior evening's details hit me like a freight train, image after image slamming through my mind.

_Coming back to the suite with Rose, and kissing her goodnight just like always, even though my lips lingered on her forehead a moment longer than they normally did. _

Then it turned into anything but our usual goodnight kiss. I remember Rose leaning in and not pulling away, snaking her arms up around my neck and pressing her lips insistently against mine.

_Kissing for what felt like hours in the doorway before telling Rose that we should go to bed... alone. _

And we had. Not because I wanted to stop kissing Rose. Not because I wanted to go to bed alone.

Because we were friends. And we were drunk.

_Rose standing at the foot of my bed, not saying a word, just pulling her shirt over her head. _

_Pale flesh silhouetted against the backdrop of the black night sky and the neon lights, like some technicolor fantasy. _

She'd stood there, bare and bold, looking both determined and uncertain. She wanted this. She wanted me.

_Crooking my finger at her and watching as she crawled her way up the bed toward me, smirking like she wasn't the one that had started this in the first place, like she was just letting me have my way. _

I wanted her too.

_Rose.. above me... below me.. everywhere. _

I'd slept with Rose, and not in the fell asleep watching movies in my dorm room sense. Fuck. I'd finally gone there with Rosalie, and I was too drunk to even enjoy it.

I mean, I enjoyed it. I hope she did too. Oh god, what if she didn't? My Pop taught me better than that.

Either way, I don't regret it. I want to do it again. I love Rosalie, and we've always walked so close to the line between what we are and what we could be. But now that we've crossed it, I don't know if I want to go back.

"There's coffee on the table." Rose gestures toward the dining room table without looking at me.

I don't want coffee. I want to make sure she's okay. I want to know why we went to sleep together and I woke up alone.

I walk to where she is and sit down next to her without a word. I can read her like a book. She's tense. And she's been crying. Maybe she thinks it was just some drunken vacation fuck.

"Em, I..." She trails off, still staring straight ahead at the city and the mountains beyond. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Same thing I was thinking, Rose." I reach for her hand but she just twines her fingers together in her lap, pulling away from me for the first time I can ever remember. _Or maybe not. _"Rose, it's okay. I mean, I know we've never really talked seriously about going there, but it's okay."

She shakes her head no, her hair falling in front of her face. "No, Em. It was a huge mistake. I never should have..."

I feel like I've just taken a bare knuckles hit to the gut from Mike Newton. She thinks it was a mistake. She doesn't want this._ Or does she just not know what she wants? _I want to get inside her head so I can see where she's at, but she's not letting her defenses down for a second.

"Rose, it doesn't have to be a mistake. Things change. We could just try." The words come out and I realize I sound desperate, and when she looks at me, I know she hears that.

"I can't, Em." Her voice breaks and her eyes fill with tears and I want to wipe them away with my thumb, but I can tell that's not what she wants from me right now. It guts me, because the part of me that is her best friend wants to make it better. And the part of me that thinks it could be more wants her to think the same thing. "We're better than that. What we have, it's more than just some thing that fades. I can't risk it not working out."

_But what if it did work out? What if we took what we had and turned it into something bigger?_ I'm about to pitch this, explain how it doesn't have to be something we lose, but something we gain. But then I look at her again, right in her eyes, and I know she doesn't want this.

I pull her toward me, tucking her head under my chin and running my hand up and down her back. This is what she needs from me. This is _who_ she needs me to be, and if she doesn't want things to change between us, then I need to get us back to the way things were before.

"My proposal was really that bad, huh? I thought you liked Lil Flip," I joke, trying to soften the raw feelings. Hers and mine.

I'll be whatever she needs, because she's right about one thing. We are more than what happened last night.

She laughs softly and pinches my side, hard. "Ass. I can't even believe you asked me to be your freak in the sheets."

"Well if memory serves..." I'm joking because it eases the tension. I just want her to smile. I just want her to be happy. She sits up, looking indignant, eyes flashing. There's my Rose.

"Me? What about you? Where did you learn to talk like that?"

She's referring to my rather liberal use of dirty talk, I'm guessing. "Porn. Where else? Didn't hear you complaining. In fact, things are a bit hazy but I seem to remember you dishing it out too. Something about sucking on your-"

Rose punches my shoulder and rolls her eyes before twisting her body so she's laid out on the couch, her legs across my lap. "Your proposal was shit. I'll help you come up with something better by the time you find the right girl."

"Isn't it a pretty standard formula? Dinner. Candles. Down on one knee. Ring. Am I missing something?"

"Um, yes. Em, the proposal is key. I mean, the wedding is important too, don't get me wrong. But the proposal? That is the moment - when you look at someone and say 'You're it. You're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.' And they want the same thing. It has to be perfect."

We stay like that for hours, talking about everything from what we're going to do now that school is almost over to what we're going to eat for breakfast. Or lunch, since morning has long since turned into afternoon.

We finally decide we should shower and get dressed, if for nothing else than to hunt down Jasper and Bella, since they never came back to the room last night. We stand and Rose hugs me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

"We'll be okay, right Em?" She whispers the words into my chest.

"We'll be okay, Rose." And I really hope we will be, because I can't stand the idea of losing each other any more than she can.

She's my best friend.

**oOo**

I lay on my bed, trying to shake off the memory that's been haunting me since the gym and probably longer, if I'm being honest. It took months for Rose and me to get back to where we'd been before Vegas. Sometimes, I think we were never quite the same after that. We'd crossed a line, and I'd shown my hand too early, letting on that I wanted to be with her. Even now, she looks at me sometimes and I can see the regret in her eyes. Was it regret for what happened or what _hadn't_ after the fact? I don't know because it's the one conversation we never have.

It's hard not to wonder how things would have worked out if she'd said yes that morning. Would we still be together? I like to think we would, because Rose and I are a permanent thing, but you never know. And right now I'm freaking the fuck out because her engagement to Peter might shorten our shelf life. It's something I really hadn't given much thought to before last night.

I'm trying to pay attention to _SportsCenter_, but my mind keeps wandering to Vegas. To Rose. To the way she looked, the way she sounded, the way she felt. I haven't really thought about it in years. I haven't let myself. All I know is that my mind has a twisted way of remembering Rosalie from that night. Dirty talking and sexier than any siren, fold-out, or fake tits I've encountered since.

I click the television off and stretch out, hoping sleep comes quickly, when the land line rings. It's after ten, which means it's unlikely that the call is business. I grab the phone and glance at the number, smiling at the familiar digits. I click the button and before I can even get a hello out, I'm listening to the husky voice of Bella Swan.

"Put it back in your pants, McCarty. We've got shit to talk about."

"How'd you know?"

"It's after ten and you're home on a Saturday night. What else is there to do but flog your log?"

"Keep talking, Bella. I'm almost there. You really have such a way with words."

"I do, don't I? Enough with the flattery. So, she's getting hitched." That's Bella. She doesn't mince words, she cuts straight to the chase.

"Yeah."

"I don't like it. We gonna stop this thing?" It sounds like Bella's going to throw that Hail Mary pass and I'm going to be on the receiving end. Standing there with hands ready, and damn does it feel good to have someone else playing for me.

"Yeah!" _Kiss it up to God, we're going in._

"You ready to fight dirty?" Because that's what it's going to be - dirty. Am I ready? Is it time to really say fuck the risk and throw in all my chips on the chance that me and my best friend are a _could be_ instead of a _could have been_? This is Rose we're talking about, so even if I lose my shirt, it's better than losing her.

"Fuck yeah."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to **HMonster4** for pushing us along with picspam, handholding, and of course - her magical beta ways. **TheHeartofLife** provides us with therapy sessions and **Miztrezboo **is the cream in our cawfee.

We're giddy at the response the first chapter got during 30 Days of Em and we hope that you like this chapter too. Thank you for reading (and we hope you're doing it with a Boston accent and keeping it dirty!).


	3. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

**Disclaimer: The characters aren't ours. The fantasies we have about them are. Especially the really dirty ones. **

I trace circles around the note, over and over, overlapping the black ink until there are grooves worn into the paper. I'd come in today to find Rosalie's feminine scrawl on my desk calendar again.

_Peter got back into town early. Dinner for three? Your place?_

The note in and of itself was no big deal. It certainly isn't the first time Rose has begged off when it's her turn to cook. But the 'plus one' is certainly new.

_I'll be your best friend._

Her tag line whenever she wants to convince me to do something I don't want to do. She knows this shit isn't okay; Mondays are _ours_. Or they always were before, but it's becoming clear that when Rose gets married, everything is going to change.

_If _Rose gets married, that is.

I don't want _us_ to change; we've got a good thing, me and Rose, which is why have to find a way to stop it. Do I have a fucking clue how I'm going keep the nuptials from taking place? Not a one, and if you fail to plan, you best plan to fail. I can't fail. Luckily, I've got a brilliant strategist coming in for a logistics meeting.

"Fuck you, Jasper. I did not even give Jacob Black head in your dorm room. That was you. You just don't remember because of the Scorpion Bowls at dinner. You started sucking 'em down... and you never stopped."

I'd know Bella Swan with my eyes closed. It's the voice. Sexy, breathy, with traces of her southern roots woven into the acquired Boston accent. The subject matter is familiar too; I've heard this argument before. _Someone_ gave Jake a blow job in mine and Jasper's dorm room during a blackout, or so he told anyone that would listen. I wasn't there that night, but Bella and Jasper were. To this day, almost eight years later, each of them still insists it was the other.

My money is on Jasper. Bella would admit it if she had - she's never been exactly shy about her sexual exploits. Bella isn't easy, but she likes sex and she's not afraid to say it. Basically, she's me.

Just with tits. Really nice ones, too.

The click of fuck-me heels on the hardwoods alerts me that Bella is on her way across the hall. I put down the pen; I don't want to come off like some lovesick schoolgirl, doodling Rosalie's name on my blotter. I glance up as Bella saunters through my office door, all curves, and smirk and power suit.

"Well, well, Emmett McCarty, as I live and breathe. Are you even sexier than usual, or has it really been that long since I've been laid?" She sinks into the chair across the desk. "Oh wait. It really has been that long since I've been laid."

Jasper calls out from across the hall. "There's plenty of room on this side of the fence..."

Bella rolls her eyes and smiles at me. "Chicks? No. Women are insane. Besides, I already went through that phase in college. I like dick, you know?"

"You've mentioned it once or twice. It's great to see you, B. You look good."

"Spread the word and tell a friend; preferably a single one. I'm not looking to be the other woman." She smirks, and then groans. "Again."

Long story short, Bella's last relationship was something straight out of a daytime soap. She met Marcus at a legal conference, they hit it off right away and they were blissfully happy for a year. Unfortunately, he was also blissfully happy with his wife and two kids, whom he failed to mention. Bella found out when she flew to his New York office as a Valentine's Day surprise . His secretary had politely informed her that Marcus was away for the weekend with his _wife_.

"What was it about that guy, anyway? I never got what you saw in him." Marcus had been a total dick, and in the four years since their breakup, Bella had measured every man she dated against him and none had measured up. Fact of the matter is, she'd loved Marcus and until she felt that for someone else, she was stuck.

Bella spreads one hand out and starts ticking things off on her fingers. "Emotionally unavailable, commitment issues, no time for me... did I miss anything?"

"Not worthy, Bella. Not by a mile." Her eyes soften a little. She's all heart, it's just buried under the drive and sarcasm and innuendo.

And tits. Really nice tits.

It's hard not to notice them when she flashes me her dirty girl smile and leans forward conspiratorially. Akin to 50s pinup girls, Bella is all gorgeous curves and sidelong glances. She has what my mom calls sloe eyes, dark and turned up in the corners, especially when she smiles... which is often. Bella has a spark to her, something that makes people want to be around her and makes men want to get close to her. Physically, anyway. But she keeps it at that. It occurs to me, not for the first time, that Bella and I have a lot in common.

"Eh, there's plenty of cock in the sea. I'll hook one worth holding on to eventually." She makes some obscene gestures pertaining to size and sexual acts with her hands, and we both crack up.

It's hard not to laugh when Bella is around. We've had a lot of good times over the years. And when you want a balls to the wall, take no prisoners partner in crime... you look no further than Bella Swan. She plays unapologetically dirty, and she plays to win. Always.

"So... she wants to bring _him_ to dinner at my place tonight." Bella arches her brow and motions for me to continue. "You know, Monday night dinners. Just Rose and me, historically speaking. Do I call and tell her that we should just skip?"

"And miss the chance to have home field advantage? Fuck no, let him come over. It's a good chance to size up the competition."

"He's not really my competition, B. Peter's a nice enough guy, I just..." I just what? Don't want to have to share her? Don't want to give up the chance that someday we might be something more? I know I'm a selfish prick.

"Emmett, wake up." I straighten my spine at her tone. Bella obviously means business. "Peter is your competition. He's getting what you want. He _is_ the enemy."

"It's not like that. I'm not trying to be with Rosalie. I don't think she wants me like that. We sort of, one time, and then..."

Bella cuts me off by putting her hand up and giving me _the look_. "I know. Vegas. I heard all the details, blow by earth shattering blow. And Em, you are a smart guy, but when it comes to our mutual bestie, you are a dumb fuck."

Bella knows about Vegas. I don't know why this shocks me. It makes sense that Rose would have talked to her, but some part of me thought it was this long buried secret. I'd never told anyone, not that there was anyone to tell. I wasn't about to say "Hey Jasper, I kind of had sex with you sister in Vegas. Wanna go shoot hoops?" But if Bella knows, then Jasper knows. And if Jasper knows, then Alice knows. Basically, the entire bridal party knows... except the groom. Or _does _Peter know?

"You know about Vegas? How long have you... I mean, when did she... what did she tell you exactly?" I'm tripping over my words left and right. It's something that Rose and I _never _talk about, but if she talked to Bella, I might be able to get a better idea how she feels about that night.

"Okay, first thing - close your mouth. You look like a goldfish. Second - not on your life, buddy. I may be willing to help you break up Rose's impending marriage, but I will not divulge classified information."

"Bella..." I try pouting but she just shakes her head at me.

"Not a chance. I'm a girl; we have rules. Here's the deal. You might not think so, and she is clearly too stubborn to entertain the idea, but you and Rosalie... there's something there. Rosalie and Peter Peter Crumpet Eater?" Bella pantomimes an exaggerated yawn before continuing. "Snooze. So we've just got to make sure she sees that he's not Mr. Right, he's just Mr. Right Away."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

Bella stands and places her hands on my desk, leaning forward and giving me an amazing view of her assets. "Well, for starters, you are going to be the best damn Maid of Honor in the history of weddings."

"I don't really see how that is going to help, Bella. The goal is for her _not _to get married." The goal is to keep everything as is.

"The goal, Emmett, is to show her exactly how good you and she could be. To do that, you're going to be whatever she needs."

"I don't know how to be a bridesmaid. I'm a guy." I direct the statement at her cleavage, which is prominently on display and right at eye level, to prove my point.

"No shit. And as you can see from your bird's eye view of Benny and Joon, I'm not a guy either. Eyes up here, McCarty." I tear my eyes away, with effort, because I _am _a guy and those _are _breasts. "Emmett-san, I am the quintessential 'always a bridesmaid, never a bride'. I've got this. I'll be your Miyagi."

"Dress on, dress off?"

"Keep it in your pants, Lance Romance. I'll get you through the bachelorette party and bridesmaid's brunch and wedding shower..."

"What the hell is a bridesmaid's brunch?" She gives me a stern look, and I jerk my hands up in the 'I give' stance. "Sorry. Do go on."

"As I was saying, I can help you navigate the treacherous and shark infested waters that make up the Maid of Honor Ocean until we capsize the S.S. Peter. I just need you to do one thing."

The look on her face tells me not to even bother going for a dirty joke or a cheap laugh. I'm not sure what she wants from me, since she seems to have this whole wedding thing wired. "What?"

She throws me a soft smile before grabbing her purse and heading for the door. She, turns just as she reaches it. "Emmett, if you want her, if you really want her, this is your chance. Don't be a guy. Be a man."

**oOo**

Six fifty steamrolls in, and after a trip to the grocery store (and the party store in the same plaza), I'm set with the makings of a Mexican fiesta. Rosalie and Peter are due at seven, and everything is just about ready.

I continue stirring the meat, adding seasoning and water to the skillet while singing along with Santana. When we have a themed dinner, I pull out all the stops. It started as a joke years ago, the night we attempted to make our own sushi (by the way, never doing that again - pain in the ass) and Rosalie dressed in a silk kimono and slippers for the occasion. Since then, it's quickly evolved into props and, if the occasion calls for it, accents. I'm looking forward to hearing Peter attempt a Mexican accent over his British one.

Yeah, I'm an asshole.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I slip it out, smiling at the new text message. _Get your game face on and knock his dick in the dirt. Here if you need me. _I fire a quick text back at Bella and lay my phone on the counter, knowing I'll be hitting her up for moral support all night. She said it was fine and that she had my back. I should totally do something to repay her for all her help. Chocolate? Flowers? Porn?

Porn. Definitely porn.

The meat's simmering, so I move along to chop onions, my least favorite task. Honestly, I might have given Rose a bit of grief about making dinner but this is where I'm in my element. Should have made a chef my fall-back career.

I try and ignore the burn that's forming in my eyes. If Rose were here, she'd shove a spoon in my mouth and insist it helps.

But she's not here.

I shrug it off and focus on the job at hand while continuing with my song and dance, adding a little hip action.

"Can I get some fries with that shake shake booty?"

I jump and my knife clatters to counter. Rosalie. She's doing an exaggerated slow clap, bemused expression on her face. She's like a cat, that one, always slinking in and out of rooms and apparently front doors. Used to give me fucking heart attacks but now I'm pretty much used to it.

Shaking my head slowly, I mock a face of disbelief at her comment, and continue to move in time with the music as I chop the onions and do my best not to tear up. She's joined in, doing her own little dance, moving her hips suggestively back and forth. I laugh at her antics, the exaggerated movements.

"This is Mexican night. We don't have_ fries_ in Casa de McCarty. And how dare you sully Santana with Salt N Pepa."

Rose dances her way over to me, twirling the scarf she's wearing around in circles, before planting an obnoxiously loud kiss on my cheek. "You're kidding right? Salt N Pepa are brilliant. And I'm not the one getting funky in the kitchen while cutting onions."

My iPod switches to Black Magic Woman and she lets out a breathy "Ohhhh, it's my jam!" before shimmying backward so she has a wall where she can slide up and down. The girl's got moves and if Santana had the opportunity to meet her, they'd be singing this to her, for sure. I turn away from the onions, leaning against the counter with my arms crossed. Her dance is sexy, sure, because she's always sexy. But right now she's just acting ridiculously and I have to smile at it all.

"Damn Hale, I hope you do that at your wedding. You been hitting the sauce early? You're acting drunk. And where's Peter?"

"No, I'm acting _me._" This is true. Things have been so tense and confusing since she told me, I almost forgot that _this _is Rosalie. "Peter's looking for parking - wouldn't think it would be this bad on a Monday night but we circled the block a few times. He dropped me off so I wouldn't have to walk."

Ever the gentleman, but Peter clearly doesn't know her like I do. Rose doesn't mind walking. If it were the two of us, we would have parked and then waltzed up the sidewalk together. If we were in the mood (drunk), we'd do the Monkees walk or the Laverne & Shirley.

She opens the fridge, pulling out a Corona. "Lime?" I nod my head toward the counter, where I have cut up limes, and watch her pop one into the bottle. She sticks her thumb in and flips it. I'm still taking a break from the damn onions and she notices my eyes are watery. "Why don't you have a spoon in your mouth? You know that helps your eyes not to water."

"This from the girl who cooks... not at all. I think I'll be okay."

"I'm just looking out for you. Don't want Peter to think you're a big pussy."

"Christ, Hale. You kiss your mother with that mouth? I'm secure in my onion tears. Better than walking around like a chump with a spoon in my mouth. Besides, what Peter thinks is-"

She arches her brow at me and I let the thought trail off. I glance at the clock and realized Rosalie been here for a few minutes, but still no Peter.. "Does he know how to get up here?"

She throws me a look that would make most men wither, but I'm used to it by now. Patent Rosalie Hale, circa 2001. Though it had probably been around longer, that's how long I'd been getting the _Emmett, you're a jackass _look. That particular brand was reserved just for me. "He might not be from the country originally, but I think he can handle walking down the block and finding his way up to Casa de McCarty. By the way, it smells delicious. Can I use your microph- I mean your _spoon_ to try a little guac?"

I hand her the spoon while not so subtly scratching my cheek with my middle finger, which, is ignored while she hums in appreciation of my homemade guacamole. Compliment my cooking and all is good in my book. She goes a step further. "And, the sombreros? Nice touch."

"Did you see your maracas?"

"Why yes, just this morning after my shower."

"Ah, but do _your _maracas make music? I think not." I walk out to the dining room table where I'd left the props and slap the bright pink sombrero on her head. She looks... absolutely ridiculous. I let out a chuckle as she grabs at the maracas and holds them up, shaking them next to her... maracas. Yeah. She has a nice set.

What? I'm a guy, I've looked.

I manage to tear my eyes away when the buzzer sounds, coupled with a knock on the door. Peter's hesitant voice carries through the apartment. "Rosalie? Emmett? Bugger, I hope so otherwise I'm walking into the wrong flat."

It's a condo, for fuck's sake, not a _flat._ I place the blue sombrero on my head before making my way to the door. Swinging the door open, I greet Peter with a hearty "Hola!" and a strong handshake. Pops always taught me the importance of a good handshake. He returns the force, and I can see the challenge on his face. Apparently, we are coming out swinging. "Hope Mexican is okay. I didn't know if it was too hot for you."

He runs a hand through his dark hair and I can't help but notice that he's basically the British version of me. I'm just a hair taller but he's right there, matching me and it annoys me. Hell, everything about this annoys me and I remind myself that I have to win this without being a complete asshole.

"Fine, fine. Thanks so much for having us. I'm not sure how you two swap off, what with my future bride's cooking skills." He looks a bit flustered and I can't tell if it is the cold making his cheeks ruddy or the situation in general but I try to make him feel at ease.

"She's got a lot of good take out near her place. May I recommend the Indian?" Peter chuckles and I can tell he's familiar with it, and likely everything else in a ten block radius. "So I hear congratulations are in order, man! Come on in and make yourself comfortable. Take off your coat and grab a beer and a sombrero."

"I heard they're thinking about making that Mexico's slogan," Rose quips as she rounds the corner. She takes his coat to hang on the rack by the door before leaning in to kiss him.

I don't really want to watch the kissing. Or the leaning. I head into the kitchen and call over my shoulder, "Corona or Dos Equis?" Peter indicates the latter and he and Rose follow me around the corner.

I get Peter his beer and Rose offers him a sombrero. He takes it good naturedly but seems horribly uncomfortable once he has it on. "You really go all out, don't you Emmett?"

"Well, we like dinner to be an event, me and Rose." The emphasis on me and Rose isn't unkind, but it's firm. "Especially when we do French."

Rose narrows her eyes. "Don't even bring that up again, Emmett McCarty."

I smirk at her and lean against the counter, ignoring her request. "So my birthday fell on a Monday one year, and Rosie asked what I wanted for dinner. I asked if she could cook French food and she said she could." Rose is trying not to smile. We've told this story more than once. "So I got to her place and the fire alarm was blaring, and she's up on a chair with a broom, trying to get it to stop going off. The alarm finally shuts off and Rose is practically in tears because she burned the... well... French fries. And French bread."

Rose is giggling now, and I'm not going to be able to hold it in much longer. "Emmett, you suck."

"Yup. So none of it was edible, everything was black as tar. Well, except for the salad with..." I look at Rose and we both say at the same time, 'French dressing'."

And we're just lost, laughing at the memory. I managed to keep from crying with the onions, but now I'm wiping my eyes, doubled over. Rose steps toward me, grabbing my forearm and trying to stay upright. We manage to calm the incessant laughter a little, but then I look at her and say the magic words, the ones that she tried to use in her defense. "It's Cajun." We both lose it again, and after a few more minutes of this, I look up and notice Peter standing there, looking puzzled.

"Oh that's funny. She thought that was what you meant by French food, right?"

I look at Rose and she shrugs. "Um, no. Not really. I... guess you just had to be there."

Peter smiles tightly and although I didn't mean for that whole thing to be a competition, I feel like I just won something.

I spy that he's running low on his beer and I figure that the spiciness of the food is doing more of a number on him than he's letting on, so I grab another Dos Equis from the fridge. "Here you go, man." I hand him the beer and he gives me a look.

"Erm, thank you, Emmett. I still have..."

Tapping the top of his open beer with the bottom of mine, I cause the rest of his beer to bubble up to the top. Just a little trick I learned in college. "Drink up, buddy. You're going to need it. Salsa's got jalapenos."

Rosalie's blue eyes have transformed into laser beams and she's glaring at me and my little move. Good thing I've got my sombrero on, I just tip it down and pretend not to see her.

What little I know of Peter, he seems very out of his element. I'd feel bad for the guy, but then I remember what Bella said. He's getting what I want. He's the enemy, a damn redcoat, for Christ's sake.

"Dinner is ready. Why don't you guys get settled in the other room and I'll bring it out." Rose and Peter head into the dining area and I grab my phone so I can shoot Bella a quick message.

_USA, 1. GB, 0. _

Her response is immediate. _Good boy. Second place is first loser, Em. Be ruthless. _

I smile. Her killer instinct is insane. This is why she's a great litigator. I pocket the phone and grab the tray of enchiladas and the bowl of rice. I head into the dining area and I falter for a second when I see Rose, leaning into Peter, her eyes sparkling. I can't let myself feel bad. I know he makes her happy, but I could do better.

I set the plates on the table and they pull apart, not like they got caught, just like it's not polite to have some gratuitous PDA. That's got to be a Peter thing, because Rose has zero issue being openly affectionate. I make a trip back to the kitchen, grabbing the remaining dishes. I take a breath and make sure I've got my game face on.

"Dig in. Don't be shy." I'm never worried about my kitchen skills, and there is a litany of moaning noises as Rose and Peter tuck into their food.

"Emmett, this is really delicious. Rose told me you were a great cook, but really, this is top notch." I beam internally, not because of the praise, but at the idea that Rose was talking about me to Peter.

"Thanks, man. I like to cook. I hope you do too." I incline my head at Rose and wink.

"Oh, no. I mean I can make an egg sandwich and whatnot, but I don't spend much time in the kitchen." He turns to Rose before going on. "Don't worry, we'll hire someone, love." He rests his hand on her arm for a moment and she smiles.

The rest of dinner continues much the same way. I go toe-to-toe with Peter as much as I can without being to obvious, bringing up things from the past that have nothing to do with him and engaging Rose in conversations that don't allow him much input. I feel like kind of a dick, but I'm going to need to be single minded if I want to take this one. I get a few raised eyebrows from Rosalie and I'm pretty sure she's caught on that I'm up to something, even if she's not exactly sure _what. _

He volleys back, talking about some wedding related stuff and trips they are planning on taking. It sounds like an awful lot of travel. I look over at Rose. "What about the business? You going to be okay taking that much time off?" Rose has been pretty focused the last few years, which means just a few weeks off a year, but that is how it is when you're the boss, at least in the beginning.

"Oh, well. I don't think I'm going to keep working, Em. I mean, for a little bit, but... well, Peter and I want kids and we don't really want to wait. And I really just want to be a mom and not worry about daycare, you know?"

I nod, like I know, but really, I _don't_ know.

_My _Rosalie wants a family. I can't imagine her giving up everything she's worked so hard for in her life just to play June Cleaver to his Ward. She always said she was going to have it all and I didn't have any reason to doubt that she would.

And then she continues.

"Plus, it would be pretty hard to keep the business from..." she pauses awkwardly and looks at Peter. He nods, and I get that this is something that they know and I don't, something they talked about because it was going to have to come up. "...from England."

"From England?" I don't get it. Peter's family is there, but... "I think I'm missing something."

Rose looks me square in the eye and steels her shoulders, like she's expecting a fight. "After the wedding, in a few months, I'll be moving to England. For good."

"You're moving to England? For good?" I'm aware I'm just repeating her words back to her in the form of a question, but what the fuck? I look at her like Peter isn't even in the room, because whatever I think we could be, we're supposed to be best friends and we talk shit out before we make major decisions.

"I'm sorry, Em. I hate to just drop this on you. We've been talking it out, Peter and I." She looks over at him and he takes her hand. There's comfort there, but also possession. "We just decided today, and I didn't want to wait to tell you."

In an instant, I feel it all start to slip through my fingers. She's leaving. He's winning. Fuck, he's already won. At that moment, my phone buzzes once in my pocket and I know that it's Bella, looking for the update. I duck out of the room, using the _business _excuse. _Rock out with your cock out, Em. _Her text makes me snort and I'm glad I can still find the humor in this.

I fire back: _U.S.A 1 G.B. 24_

The response is nearly immediate. _A wise, unknown man once said - Losers quit when they're tired...Champions quit when they hold the gold. Down, but not out. Grow at set. Be a man. _

I finally get exactly what she means. I remember the way my dad used to say it, a phrase from some big mouthed wrestler. _To be the man, you've gotta beat the man. _

If there is anyone who can tell me how to be the man... it's my dad.

**A/N: **This chapter goes out the man who was Hoops McCann, Lane Meyer (no relation to Stephenie) and Lloyd Dobler. John, you knew how to be the man, learned the language of love and always got the (right) girl in the end. We want our two dollars, but since we can't make money off of this, we'll settle for you and your boom box outside our window any day.

So, we're sorry we took so long, but if we'd posted before now, it would have been meh, and we want to give you our unfffff. Unf sometimes has a slow incubation process, but we'll try to nudge it along next time.

H tells us to buckle down and makes us clean up our messes. J hugs us and loves us and will be starring in an RPF with our Unfy. C is our awesome wifey and kid (don't ask, it's not as Jerry Springer as it sounds). You all make our hearts go pitter pat. We love you to pieces (of pie, because really, what is better? Nothing).


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